


Never been kissed

by TheLittlestBoho



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:11:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittlestBoho/pseuds/TheLittlestBoho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles touch, but they don't kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never been kissed

Derek and Stiles don’t kiss.

It’s not that they don’t want to, because they definitely want to, but they can’t. Stiles is just barely seventeen, and he’s never been on a date, and he’s the Sheriff’s kid who’s been hurt one time too many. Derek is very much twenty-three, and he’s been around the block more than once, and he’s an exonerated murder suspect with a rap sheet of bar brawls back in New York. Derek and Stiles kissing is a very bad, a monumentally bad, idea.

So they don’t. But they do touch.

The Camaro is in the shop, and Scott convinced Stiles to lend him the jeep for a little getaway with Isaac, and most of the pack is busy because it’s a long weekend. So of course that’s when some weird stuff starts happening, and Derek and Stiles have to go to the ass end of town to look something up. The bus is packed with people, and they’re both forced to stand and try not to fall.

Stiles is monumentally bad at standing on buses, always has been. But Derek’s standing behind him, bracketing him, letting his hand fall to Stiles’ shoulder when he leans too far forward on a sharp turn. The bus is full, and everyone is tucked close, and no one notices the way Stiles is leaning back against Derek’s chest. It’s comfortable, and warm, and makes their hearts speed up a bit. It’s busy, so no one sees Derek’s hand against the small of Stiles’ back as they get off the bus, but they both feel it and it’s not a kiss but they feel the head rush anyways.

Derek’s hand is big, and warm, and a perfect fit.

There’s some type of shifter in the woods, something decidedly not at all even a bit human. They were cool with letting him roam around until he ate two tourists, and the pack all kind of wonder how Beacon ‘Deathtrap’ Hills still has any kind of tourist industry. It does though, and people are dead, and the shifter is probably clinically insane, or would be if he were a human. The pack attack, Stiles acts as bait, things go ass-over-tea-kettle, and then they win.

It’s a pattern they’ve perfected, and Stiles is laying on the forest floor, breathless when Derek comes over. The pack have headed off, trusting Derek and Stiles to get to their respective homes on their own. The alpha takes Stiles’ hand, helps him off the ground, and lets go as soon as he’s up. The walk to the Jeep is quiet, but when they stop Stiles lifts a hand and brushes a leaf from Derek’s hair, letting his hand trail over the alpha’s forehead in a soft brush. Then he gets in the jeep and goes, and that’s that.

They don’t kiss, but other people do.

It’s Scott’s birthday, and they’re having a real party for once because they have a big group of friends now. There’s booze (even though the wolves can’t get drunk) and music, and it’s a really good time. Stiles is dancing with a girl from history class that he kind of knows but not really when she leans up and kisses him. He kisses back on instinct, and from a scientific viewpoint the few minutes he spends kissing her is enjoyable. In actual experience though it’s not, and Stiles pulls away with a stammered apology.

Derek finds him sitting in Melissa’s room, off limits to everyone who isn’t Scott or Stiles. They sit together for a long time before Derek traces a finger along Stiles’ cheekbone, trailing it along his jaw before giving his ear lobe a gentle tug. It makes Stiles smile, and Derek smiles back, and Stiles feels himself lose the tension the bad kiss gave him. They go back downstairs and Scott helps Stiles nurse a killer hangover the next morning.

Holding hands is another thing they never do.

It happens once, though, and it’s kind of the Sheriff’s fault. Derek is looking for an apartment, one that’s actually nice and clean, with the kind of neighbours you trust to water your plants. It’s not going well, to say the least, and the Sheriff hears about it through the grapevine like he does with pretty much all the news that goes around town. He pities the kid because apartment hunting sucks, and he knows that Derek’s been acting as an older brother to the Lahey kid, that he’s not as bad as he seems.

He also knows that Isaac and Stiles are friends now, so he suggests that Stiles tag along with them because Stiles is good at stuff like that. Better than most adults. So he goes, and the agent they go through must be new in town or live under a rock, because she asks if Derek and Stiles are a couple, mentions that landlords always prefer couples over bachelors. It’s not even really lying when Stiles says yes, or when Derek takes his hand as the landlady of a nice complex shows them around the place. It’s definitely not lying when Stiles smoothes the collar of Derek’s jacket, fingers trailing over his neck slightly while he signs the lease.

It’s not lying, but it’s not exactly the truth either.

Cherie Evans asks Derek out the week of Stiles’ half-birthday, right between seventeen and eighteen. He knows because he always knows, is keeping perfect track of exactly how long it will be until he turns eighteen and the whole world opens wide. Derek says yes, because he’s become friends with Cherie at the architecture firm they both work at – Cherie as a PR person, Derek as an intern – and because he needs to work on dating again. It’s nice, actually, and he has a surprisingly good time. They date for three months before he admits that he’s not as into it as she is, and she laughs it off because it was getting obvious, and they part ways.

He climbs into Stiles’ window for the first time in months and it hurts how much he’s missed talking to Stiles. The three-months-shy-of-eighteen year old is sitting on his computer chair, and the look on his face when Derek comes in could curdle milk. Derek just kneels in front of him, traces his finger along the bridge of Stiles’ nose, curls a hand around his neck. It takes a few minutes of gentle touches, admitting he left Cherie, before Stiles leans forward and presses their foreheads together with a pained breath.

For the first time Derek wonders if they’ll get their happy ending after all.

Stiles goes to Berkeley, three hours away from Beacon Hills. It’s his turn to try dating, a guy in his intro composition class who looks nothing like Derek. Mos has the same lanky build as Stiles, and a decidedly nerdy-hipster fashion sense. They spend most of their time wandering through record shops, and book stores, and he’s the first person Stiles does anything with beyond kissing. It’s nice, good, but by the end of first semester Stiles wants to throttle Mos for pretty much everything that comes out of his mouth. He’s a faux-activist who thinks every word out of his mouth is gold, and does exactly zero research before expressing an opinion on any subject.

Stiles dumps him a week before he goes home for Christmas, a week and a half before he sees Derek for the first time in four months. Derek is shirtless when he opens his apartment door and Stiles cracks a joke, smile widening when Derek rolls his eyes and pushes him back by his forehead. It’s the best feeling in the world and he shoves back, thumb brushing twice over Derek’s collarbone before he tells the lug to put a shirt on and help him finish his Christmas shopping.

Their fingers brush six times while they shop, and their hearts race each time.

Stiles is nineteen and a half, and still the Sheriff’s kid. He’s gone out with half a dozen people, some lasting a couple months, some barely lasting the full meal. He’s had sex with two of them, and hasn’t been in mortal peril in nearly two years. University is hard, and he’s not sure he’s in the right program, or that he wants to finish, or even what he wants to do. It’s break, though, and he’s home which is all that matters at the moment.

It’s Derek’s birthday – twenty-six – and everyone is at his apartment helping him pack. He’s happier than he was when he first came back, more relaxed and willing to share his feelings. He’s only gone out with two other people since Cherie, neither lasting long, but both reminding him that not all relationships are bad. Beacon Hills has stopped treating him like a criminal  - he’s got a job with the same architecture firm, and volunteers with the afterschool program at Beacon Hills elementary. It’s a lot of story time, and wiping tears, and calming kids down before their parents pick them up, and Derek loves it.

“Moving is possibly the worst birthday party option ever. You’re socially inept and I don’t know what to do with you anymore. We could’ve gone bowling, Derek.”

“I agree with Stiles, for once. Bowling would’ve been better.”

“Thank you, Lydia!”

Derek just rolls his eyes before picking up the last box. “My lease is up today, but fine. Everyone drop the boxes off at my place, and then we’ll go for supper. I’m not bowling though.”

They end up bowling.

It’s a lot of fun, and Stiles practically falls over in glee when it turns out that Derek is the worst bowler in the pack. There’s a lot of teasing, probably too much considering it’s the Alpha’s birthday, but Stiles sidles up behind Derek and touches his hand and moves him around. No one says anything, because they’ve been not-kissing for years now and everyone is used to it. By the end of the night Derek’s still a terrible bowler, but he’s at least stopped getting all gutter balls. Everyone is full and happy when they say their goodbyes.

“Not you,” Derek says, tugging Stiles back by his jacket. “Someone needs to help me unpack the essentials, and since it’s your fault it didn’t happen earlier, you’re volunteering.”

“It’s like two am and we’ve been helping you move since the ass-crack of dawn. I want to sleep, Derek. Sleep,” he says, dragging the vowels out. It gets him nowhere and he follows Derek to the little bungalow he’s just put a mortgage down on, up the walk that splits the front yard in sore need of some landscaping. The front door is coming down tomorrow, he knows, to be sanded and re-painted while the rest of the furniture gets delivered. There are a lot of little things that need fixing up and re-touching, but it’s going to be a gorgeous house when it’s done and it makes Stiles’ stomach clench.

Getting out pillows and linens doesn’t take long, and he helps Derek make up the bed. He’s headed towards the door, Derek following when the alpha speaks up. “There’s a spare room, you know. If you ever want to spent the night.” It’s a question and Stiles feels speechless for once, mind racing as he tries to figure out what the right answer is for them.

He nods eventually, turning back to the front door and locking it. Derek is still behind him, and Stiles turns back to him and brushes a thumb over his jaw while Derek rests a hand on his waist. “Spare room doesn’t have a bed, and I don’t want to unpack anymore tonight.” It gets him a nod, and Derek takes his hand and holds it for the first time (because the time with the apartment doesn’t count) and leads him to the mattress in the bedroom.

They strip down to their boxers and climb under the blankets, and Stiles takes his hand again while Derek nuzzles softly at his cheek. The house is old and creaks a lot, and there’s a fireplace in the living room that Stiles knows they’ll have to work up to using. It’s well insulated though, and warm in the blankets, and he’s happy trailing fingers over Derek’s arm while Derek traces the contours of his face. They’ve been doing this for a long time, and it’s comforting how familiar all the soft touches are, and how they still make their pulses race.

Stiles is very much nineteen, and Derek is barely twenty-six, and they finally get to kiss.


End file.
